Amy gives Ben a soapy tit wank

Beth pulls her mouth from you with a wet gasp, Ben still buried inside her for one last deep thrust before she taps his hip. “Out. Now.” He withdraws, cock throbbing and slick, and she turns, sinking fully to her knees on the shower floor. Her hands catch your wrists and tug you down with her until you’re kneeling too, water pouring over all three of you, steam thick around your shoulders.

She reaches for the soap again, lathers her palms, and slickens your breasts until they’re slippery and shining. Then she guides Ben forward. His cock—still rigid, flushed, glistening with her—slides into the soft channel between your tits.

Beth’s soap-slick palms cup your breasts from the sides and press them together, the thin lather letting her skin glide smooth and warm over yours until the soft weight forms a tight channel. She guides Ben forward; the heat of his cock is immediate against your sternum—hotter than the shower, rigid under the velvety skin—as he slides into the space she’s made.

“Like this,” she says, breathless, looking up at him then at you. “Use these. Nice and soapy. Make him come all over you again.”

You start to move, awkward at first on your knees, then finding a rhythm. Your breasts glide up and down his shaft, the soap turning every stroke sleek and frictionless. The head of his cock keeps emerging from your cleavage, swollen and wet, bumping against your chin and lower lip on the upstroke. You can feel how hard he is, how hot, the throb of him sandwiched between the soft, soapy weight of your tits. Water streams over the mess of suds and skin. Beth keeps her hands on the outsides of your breasts, squeezing them tighter around him, helping you work him.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Ben groans, one hand braced on the tile, the other hovering near your hair. “Your tits… so soft. Keep going.”

“Like that?” she asks, breath hitching. “Not too tight?”

“No, that’s… that’s good,” you manage, already starting to move. Every upward stroke drags the thick length through the soapy cleft; the raised head catches, then pushes free near your collarbone, nudging warm and wet against thin skin. Soap and water kill almost all friction—just sleek pressure and the constant throb of him between the give of your flesh. Your nipples brush his stomach on each bounce, light and sharp.

“Fuck, that’s—” Ben’s hand settles shaky in your wet hair. “So soft. Keep going. Please.”

You find a rhythm, water streaming over all of it, thinner rivulets racing down your chest and over the place he keeps emerging. “You’re really hard,” you say, voice unsteady. “I can feel you… throbbing. Right between them.”

“Yeah. God. Don’t stop.” His hips twitch; the head bumps your chin, slick with soap and precum that feels thicker, tackier, before the spray thins it. “Amy, your tits… Jesus, I’m close already.”

Beth’s thumbs pulse tighter on the outsides of your breasts, increasing the pressure. You feel the tremor in her hands, her wet hip pressed to yours. “He’s close,” she murmurs. “You want him to? All over you?”

“Yes.” The word comes out simple, urgent, pulled by the hot slide and the way he swells harder in the channel. “Come on them. Please. I want to feel it.”

“Fuck—okay—right now,” Ben grits out. His fingers flex in your hair. “Gonna come. Amy—”

The first thick spurt hits hot and heavy across your chest, startling against the water. More follows, pulsing hard between your breasts, each jet a sudden sticky warmth that clings to skin and suds, striping your throat, catching your chin. You keep moving through it, feeling every jerk and throb transmitted into the soft flesh around him, until he shudders and softens.

“Jesus… thank you,” he breathes, thumb stroking your scalp once.

Beth’s arm comes around your shoulders, solid and warm, palm flat between your shoulder blades. Cum cools and tightens where the water hasn’t reached, turns milky and slick where it has, running slow down your stomach. “You good?” she asks, close, lips soft against your cheek.

“Yeah.” You lean into her, knees aching on the tile, skin buzzing with the afterfeel of heat and pressure and stickiness. “Yeah. That was… a lot. But good.”

The shower keeps falling over the three of you, steam thick, no one moving away yet.